I Wear Your Love
by Ice Bear
Summary: Doyle demands a new partner after an op.  He learns that you should be careful what you ask for because someone may just give it to you.


He wasn't sure he'd ever been this mad - not even when he'd found out his partner had spied on him while he was with Ann Holly. God damn that bloody half Irish monster of a partner of his – no, better to think of him in the past tense. First thing Monday he would march into the Cow's office and demand a new partner. He strode tensely to the Capri and waited for the idiot to join him, because he didn't have the keys.

He couldn't remember an op that had been bollixed so badly. Hell, he'd been on Operation Susies that were better run. And Bodie, that big dumb ox, had stood there defending the op and his decision to pop up from behind the wall and make himself a bloody large target for the nice men with the automatic weapons. He was beginning to think that if the old man told his partner to jump off the Tower Bridge, he'd salute smartly, respond 'yes sir, running all the way sir,' and do it.

Almost a half hour passed before 6-2 interrupted his mutterings. Murphy handed him the keys to the car. "Mr. Cowley wants your report on his desk by 1830."

"Where's 3-7?"

"He's on his way to hospital."

"What? He was fine." A brief flash of guilt ran through him. Surely he'd have known if his partner had been shot. He flinched as he remembered how he'd left his partner - sprawled on the ground.

"That little 'talking to' you gave him resulted in a concussion." The deep brown eyes expressed the contempt the younger agent was feeling. He'd seen Ray Doyle slam his partner against the wall. "I don't pretend to understand why you two get along," he added, "but I suggest you think twice before you hurt him again. I won't stand by next time."

"4-5, that report is not going to get written out here." George Cowley said, startling his agent who was still standing beside his car.

"But Bodie?"

"Not your concern. I need your report." Hard eyes searched the younger man's face. "On your bike, Doyle," he finished before turning away.

He finished the report, trying to ignore the headache building behind his eyes. A pint, a bird and a kip – in that order - were what he needed. He enjoyed the drink but quickly lost interest in the birds. It didn't seem to be as much fun without his partner there to egg him on. He was just tired, he decided.

He looked through the post before heading for the kitchen. The sight of a half polished bike part on the coffee table - one his partner had happily unveiled a few days ago - gave him pause. He'd given up on finding that particular piece for the bike he was rebuilding. His partner had been vague about its origins but it was original and in good shape. In fact, Bodie seemed to have better luck securing pieces then he did – considering how many he'd unearthed. Shaking his head, wanting no kind thoughts to intrude on his anger, he made a quick sandwich and headed for the shower and bed.

Late the next morning; having taken care of the laundry, gone to market and done a quick cleaning job he found himself dialing his partner's number. The original plan had been to take a drive out to look at an old bike Bodie had found in the adverts and then find a pub. Well, he didn't need Bodie to look at the bike; he'd just drive out there alone. Recalling that his partner had disengaged himself from a weekend with Alyssa in order to accompany him, he smirked; served the man right for being such a bloody fool.

The drive was boring and the bike had been sold an hour before he got out there. What a waste! Figures, though, since his partner had been the one to suggest the trip. Next time he'd – no, there wasn't going to be a next time. He'd made that quite clear yesterday. He went to bed early when nothing on the telly held his interest.

Monday morning he drove himself to work, even though it was his turn to pick up his partner. He could find his own way in. Upon arriving, he was summoned to the Controller's office, only to be informed his partner had been sent to Wales for a joint job with the SAS. His request for a new partner was met with silence. Finally shaking his head slightly, the Controller agreed before asking if he knew how 3-7 had come to possess a concussion. His response was a shrug, and while the old man clearly didn't buy it, he let it go.

Teamed with Murphy, he spent the week in an unhappy state. Murphy insisted he carry his share of equipment; that he take his turn with the glasses, even if he had only just fallen asleep; and that he bring his own refreshments. Murphy also didn't put up with his moodiness. If Doyle didn't want to talk about it; 6-2 had no intention of making him, so they sat in silence for hours on end. He also discovered that he and 6-2 did not speak the same language. They almost lost a man when Doyle broke for an alley - leaving Murphy staring after him. That incident led to a distinctly unpleasant conversation – loud enough for half the squad to overhear. He cringed at Murphy's parting shot regarding how happy he'd be to turn him over to 3-7; though why Bode would want him back was a mystery.

Friday he was stuck with paperwork. Finishing early, he went home and found a package with the post. It was an art book he'd wanted. He'd seen it in a store but there'd only been one copy left and it was spoken for - which was just as well since it was pricy. Stupid git must have ordered it before…stupid git.

The weekend went slowly. He was unable to settle on any one thing. At the Monday morning briefing, he was startled to see his partner – his ex-partner he reminded himself – seated in the back corner; right arm in a sling. Cowley was ready to start when he arrived so he stayed by the door. Forty minutes later, the briefing broke, after Cowley asked to see them both in his office.

Inside, they stood before the big desk – he mused on the fact that he always felt like a schoolboy who'd been caught when they were called in. Brought rapidly back to the present, he listened to Cowley assign Bodie to records while his shoulder healed, and that once he was able, he'd start Macklin's course with a new partner. Doyle would be on stake out with Jax for now. There was no emotion on the pale face, but to those fluent in Bodie speak; the body language was fairly screaming. With a subdued 'tis his right to request a new partner, sir,' Bodie turned to leave. Cowley sighed and took a moment to study his former top team. Doyle couldn't meet the old man's eyes and was relieved when he were dismissed.

The Controller belatedly called 3-7 back, and Doyle didn't see him again that day. He heard the murmurings that stopped as soon as he entered the rest room, but chose to ignore them. He didn't like the way Bodied had looked – tired; his movement had been slow, not graceful, and the shoulder was the same one he'd dislocated twice already.

While Jax was easier to work with then Murphy, things still didn't go well. After his sixth complaint in an hour, Jax told him, in no uncertain terms, to grow up or get out of his car. The rest of the eight hour shift passed in silence.

About to enter the rest room five days later, he stopped when he heard his name. Seemed no one was looking forward to being partnered with him. According to Murphy, he was a 'moody sod' who was selfish and pig headed. Jax said that it would try the patience of a nun to deal with him on a regular basis and several other operatives threw in their thoughts on the arrogant, stubborn, willful operative. Questions were asked as to how 3-7 had put up with 4-5 for so long while seemingly enjoying it. Anson threw in that he'd never thought of Bodie as a saint, but after two days with Doyle, he'd be willing to petition the church himself on the younger man's behalf.

Doyle spun on his heel and left. Sitting in his lounge, scotch in one hand, he finally admitted that he missed Bodie. His time with Murphy and the others made him realize that Bodie went to a lot of trouble to look after him. He couldn't believe he was so stupid that he'd taken his partner for granted. It was clear to everyone else that his partner did in fact care for him; he'd just never thought about it before.

The real idiot in the partnership was the former copper; not the ex-merc. But how to make it right? The reasons behind his partner's coddling - as Jax put it - could be considered later. First, he called the Cow and rescinded the request for reassignment. This was met with a long sigh and a clipped comment that 3-7 would need to agree before the line went dead.

The quickest way to Bodie was through his stomach. He made a mad dash to the market then was off to the lion's den. He was let into the flat after a long hesitation. Bodie moved to the window in the lounge; his body language making clear he was braced for battle.

Doyle threw out a quick rambling story about his stove being on the fritz, and he couldn't very well let the food go to waste. His host was welcome to join him. He fell into the cooking; only realizing when the timer rang that almost two hours had passed. He set the table before seeking out his mate. He found Bodie asleep on the couch. He had to smile fondly. The dark hair, a bit longer than usual, framed the pale face making the deadly operative look like a child. Blue eyes startled open; body tensed for combat. Doyle held his hands out, palms up, and announced that dinner would be ready in five minutes.

The atmosphere at the table was uneasy; nothing approaching their normal camaraderie. So Doyle did most of the talking; realizing that this particular job usually fell to his partner. Bodie obviously worked hard at keeping things light when it was needed. He felt a tinge of sadness as he surveyed his dinner companion; the man looked like a dog waiting to be kicked.

With glasses of scotch, they retired to the lounge. Doyle apologized and restated his desire to retain their partnership. He added that he'd finally gotten him broken in and didn't want to start over with someone else. But it would only work if the younger man stopped running out in the midst of a firefight.

Bodie had listened, eyes focused on the scenery outside the window. By the time Ray finished speaking he looked up to find blue eyes boring into him. "He had a bead on you, and I couldn't get to him from behind the bloody wall." Green eyes met blue ones. "Don't have a death wish, Doyle." He retreated to the bedroom.

Ray took a long sip of his drink before following. "Bodie, I'm sorry. I never saw him. I thought..."

"I know bloody well what you thought! I don't want to be a hero, Doyle; you should know that by now. I just want us both to come home alive."

Ray settled on the bed. "Sorry, Sunshine. It's just…you scared me."

"You could have asked, Ray."

"Didn't mean to be such an arse, Bodie…forgive me?" Silence. Bodie rolled over onto his back, his good arm slung over his eyes. So Doyle kept talking. "Missed you. Murphy, Jax and the others kept telling me how awful I was to work with – made me realize that what you and I have – it works. Don't want a new partner, Bodie, just want you back. Never realized it before, but you take good care of me. Always took it for granted, but I won't anymore."

"So what you're saying is that since no one else is willing to put up with you, you want to partner again?"

"No! Well, yes and no. You are my partner, Bodie, but you're also my best mate. What we have is special, and I don't want that to change."

"No more hitting."

"No more hitting. And no more taking you for granted. You have my word."

The arm moved slowly down until the blue eyes were visible. "And you'll buy the first round for the next month and cook for me at least twice a week."

"Once a week." Doyle responded, wearing the first real smile to grace his face in a fortnight.

"I'll still protect you, Sunshine. S'part of my job to watch your back," Bodie said, suddenly serious. "Couldn't stand it if something happened to you."

"That works both ways, mate."

"Both ways," the younger man agreed.

_I wear your love, thrown over my shoulders like a blanket of down,_

_I wear your love, like a bright suit of armor reflecting the sun_

_On the chilliest nights, though I travel light, it is always enough_

_For I wear your love._

I Wear Your Love – (lyrics by Gary Burr – sung by Kathy Mattea)


End file.
